


Dead Men Tell No Tales

by TommysIdiosyncrasy



Series: It's A Long Walk Home, Kid [7]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Tony Stark, Ben Parker Dies, Bullying, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I do not know who the law works but I pretend I do, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Tags Are Hard, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, Tony's an asshole at first, Witness Protection, at first at least, author is projecting onto Peter Parker, he gets better tho, no beta we die like men, some tags are spoilers sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TommysIdiosyncrasy/pseuds/TommysIdiosyncrasy
Summary: Peter Parker witnesses something no kid should ever have to see. And New York's most notorious crime boss knows he saw it. When he's taken into the Witness Protection Program, he meets U.S. Marshal Tony Stark who's posing as his guardian.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: It's A Long Walk Home, Kid [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1297046
Comments: 42
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> at first I wasn't gonna post this until it was finished but fuck it now I have crushing guilt to keep me motivated to finish it

Hunched down against the cold metal table with his arms folded over his face, Peter once more resisted the urge to cry. 

He had been sitting there for maybe an hour stewing in his anxiety and fear, chewing his nails down to stubs and picking at a scab forming on his forehead. 

Now, he was slumped down onto the table, hiding behind his arms with eyes squeezed shut. Peter could hear a clock ticking in the room and it made him feel twitchy. Logically, Peter was aware that he wasn’t in trouble. But he still got mixed up with something big enough to be sitting in the local NYPD’s interrogation room, waiting for a homicide detective to come see him. 

The door opened with a squeak and Peter’s heart skipped a beat before pounding harshly against his ribs twice as fast. He barely breathed as the soft click of dress shoe heels drew nearer. The chair across from him was drawn back and someone sat heavily in it.

“Mr. Parker,” A deep voice said. “It seems you've found yourself in a spot of trouble.” 

Peter didn’t respond, not looking up from his little shelter. He heard the sound of someone scratching their unshaved face with short fingernails and a tired sigh.

“Look, kid.” The seat they sat in creaked as they leaned forwards on their elbows. “I understand you’re freaked out, I know this must be really scary, but I’m here to help you.” 

Peter swallowed, gathering his courage. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t even want to think about it, but the police could help.

The man let out a frustrated sigh and stood to leave, Peter had kept quiet for too long. 

“They killed him.” He murmured through trembling lips. The silence was deafening. 

“Who killed him?” The other demanded. 

“I...I don’t know. They never said their names. But...I didn’t see their faces.” Peter’s arms tightened around himself, his knee bouncing up and down uncontrollably. The man didn’t say anything for a moment before shuffling some papers. 

“Can you point them out?” Peter raised his eyes slowly, seeing the detective for the first time. He was tall and bald, his dark skin shining in the sharp lights. His eyes were hard and he had a certain air of severity that made Peter hope to not get on his bad side. 

His eyes wandered down to the file open in front of him with a dozen or so photographs sitting in a pile. The man reached out and pushed one towards him with large, long fingers. 

The photo was of a beautiful, slender woman with deep red hair and a wicked intelligence in her eyes. Her face wasn’t smiling but it was obvious she was aware her picture was being taken. Peter had never seen her before.

Before he could shake his head, the man slid the photo away and replaced it with a new one. This one detailing a tall man with a broad chest and shoulders that gave him a rather intimidating stature, but his face was soft and his eyes were a kind blue. He had blond hair and a row of straight, white teeth peeking out from a dimpled smile. It wasn’t him either. 

More photos were shuffled and examined in silence by Peter until one made his blood run cold.

He wasn’t smiling, his eyes piercing through the paper and right into Peter’s. The mug shot showed a man with a neatly trimmed beard, short brown hair that was smoothed back tastefully, and a deranged snarl on his thin lips. 

“Him.” Peter whispered. “He’s one of them.” Without a word, the man sorted his face into a separate pile from the others. 

This continued until Peter identified two more, but the last one was when the man finally spoke.

“You’re absolutely sure you saw him?” He asked, voice hard. Peter nodded quietly, the man had been hard to miss with his huge height and weight all tucked into an impossibly large suit and tie. A frustrated sound escaped him and he got to his feet, the pictures Peter had picked out clutched in one hand, stomping over to the door and slammed it behind him.

Peter curled up into himself again, trying not to feel the blood crusting onto his hands and face. It was impossible to escape the smell, though. It was stuck in his nostrils and made the back of his throat burn with nausea. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but it was long enough for him to start counting the ticking of the clock and reach quadruple digits before the door swung open again. 

“Mr. Parker,” Slowly, he looked up to see the previous detective standing in the doorway and someone new standing by Peter’s side. She had long reddish hair that flowed straight down her back with striking eyes that held a kind warmth in them. She rested a soft hand on his shoulder and Peter was inexplicably reminded of his Aunt May. “I’m Detective Potts, my associate is Head Detective Fury. How are you feeling?” Her eyes darted up towards Peter’s hairline where he could still feel the sting of hair against the closing wound. 

Peter didn’t answer, instead glanced past her towards the severe looking man who was scowling darkly at them both. Detective Potts followed his gaze and when she turned back to face him her smile was more strained.

“The people you identified,” she cut to the chase. “Are very powerful figures in the crime world, which unfortunately puts you at risk.” Detective Fury strode forwards and dropped the headshots of them on the table. 

“Quinton Beck,” He jabbed at the picture of the first man Peter identified. “Otto Octavious, William Baker, and Adrian Toomes.” The men Peter had seen in that alley, Quinton Beck and William Baker had held down _him_ while Otto Octavious and Adrian Toomes had stood beside-

“Wilson Fisk.” Detective Potts finished, turning away from Peter and sitting across from him. “The most notorious mob boss in New York, often referred to as Kingpin by his minions.” 

“They killed my Uncle Ben.” Peter croaked, tears welling in his eyes. He wiped roughly at his eyes, he had been able to keep it together all night but now saying it aloud had made it far too real for Peter to handle. 

“I know it’s really hard for you right now, Peter.” She murmured, reaching out to place one of her hands on top of his. “But we need you to tell us if you can think of _any_ reason these men would have it in for your uncle. If he was involved with any shady people, or long business hours he never talked about once he got home?”

“No!” Peter exclaimed. “Nothing like that! Uncle Ben would never...he’s a retired cop.” Uncle Ben wasn’t the type to get mixed up with criminals, unless he was the one putting them behind bars. But he’d been retired from the force for almost five years, instead volunteering to do odd jobs around their apartment building and the likes. 

“Are you _sure?_ ” Detective Potts pressed. “We just want to be absolutely certain. You won’t get in trouble if he was, your honesty and help will make it much easier to catch these men.” 

“I’m sure.” Peter said firmly, almost insulted that they’d ask. Then again, they were just doing their job. 

“Alright, thank you.” There was a heavy pause where Peter avoided both their gazes as he erased the last evidence he’d started crying. 

“Listen, kid.” Detective Fury said, leaning on his hands against the table. “Kingpin is the top of the food chain around here, he doesn’t go around killing random civilians he just so happens upon. If your Uncle wasn't involved with him, by all accounts he should still be alive and breathing right now.” Peter flinched back at his blunt words and nearly crumbled into tears all over again. It was only through sheer will that he held his expression into something more neutral. 

“Fury, please.” Potts said, voice chilly. 

“Right now I have a dead man killed by the most powerful mobster in New York with seemingly no ties to him at all and the only witness is this kid who-!” Fury suddenly cut himself off, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Wait, his name was Ben Parker?”

“Yes sir.” Peter said hesitantly, fearing another outburst. 

“I knew Ben Parker when he was on the force.” He said slowly. Peter blinked in surprise up at the Head Detective, he’d never heard his Uncle speak about the man before. Abruptly, the detective turned on his heel and left.

Both Peter and Detective Potts stared after him in stunned silence. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she slowly shuffled the papers Fury had left behind into a single pile.

“Excuse my colleague, he’s been in charge of all Fisk cases for years and hasn’t been able to pin him with enough evidence to put him behind bars.” Peter nodded slowly, coiling himself back into a ball, exhaustion weighing down his shoulders. He just wanted to go home and fall asleep in May’s arms. “I’m sure it's been a very long day for you and you’d like to go home, but I have some troubling news.” 

Peter didn’t think he could deal with more bad news. Casting his eyes almost pleadingly up at the detectives, Peter braced for what she had to say next.

“Wilson Fisk has never been known to take out people himself, up close and personal, so your testimony could be what it takes to finally make a real case against him. I’m also sure that Fisk knows that, which puts you in danger of him coming after you next.”

Peter nodded slowly. He still remembered watching, frozen in fear, at his Uncle struggling feebly as one of Fisk’s men rained blows on top him. Peter couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but it was obvious they wanted some information out of him and Uncle Ben was refusing to talk. He’d been grabbed from behind and dragged towards the group by rough, large hands. Kicking and screaming, he was able to scratch and bite his way out just as Fisk turned and made eye contact with him. He turned tail and ran, the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears. 

“You’re getting assigned to a bodyguard for twenty-four hour protection and taken to a safe location until we’re ready for your testimony.” Peter scratched at the scab on his forehead he’d gained when he’d tripped on the slick pavement in his hurry to run away.

“What, like witness protection?” Detective Potts smiled. 

“Yes, exactly. You’re going to need to go by a false surname and you’ll be staying out of state with our top U.S. Marshal on the case.” 

“Out of state?” Peter parroted. “What about Aunt May?” He looked away from the pity in her eyes.

“We’ve been in contact with her to explain your options and she’s agreed as your guardian for you to go into the WPP. She’ll be moved out of state as well for her protection, but as long as you remain separate she should be in no immediate danger.” Swallowing a lump in his throat, Peter couldn’t help but feel like he'd just lost both his guardians. 

“Okay.” He whispered. With one more kind look, Detective Potts left the room. 

A while later, an officer who didn’t give her name brought Peter to the bathroom and passed him new clothes. He almost asked why but he supposed he shouldn’t stay in the clothes the man out to kill him had last seen him in. With stiff limbs, Peter mechanically went through the motions of cleaning up and getting dressed. He avoided the mirror above the sink and slowly opened the door to see the same officer standing a few feet away from the door waiting for him. She gave him a once over before nodding and leading him through the quiet department, it was pretty late and he wasn’t surprised many of the desks and offices were mostly deserted. 

“Mr. Parker.” Glancing up, they came to a stop right in front of a man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. “I’m Marshal Stark.”


	2. Chapter 2

U.S. Marshal Tony Stark was all smiles to the lady cop until they were outside heading to the car, then his open expression dropped off his face and he barely looked at Peter as he hopped into the driver's seat.

Peter remained quiet during the whole drive, he wanted to ask where they were going and if he would have any of his things. But he didn’t think that Marshal Stark would be very welcoming to questions. He didn’t glance at Peter once, his eyes remaining on the road and Peter decided that he’d risk trying to get some shut eye. When he woke, there were tall buildings closing in on all sides and slow city traffic. It was both familiar and foreign, the noises and sights things he’d grown up with, but this wasn’t New York City. 

“Newkard, New Jersey.” Tony said without prompting. “Big city with lots of people, no one will notice two more in one of the hundreds of apartment buildings.” Peter nodded slowly. It wasn’t really a choice, but he felt awkward not responding. 

The radio was on to some random 90s rock station and Peter almost wanted to change it to the classical music station. He didn’t really like classical music to listen to it for fun, but Ben always put it on during long road trips. The ache for something familiar from him made a lump in Peter’s throat and his fingers twist into his pant legs. 

It wasn’t long before they were pulling into a parking garage and showing some ID to prove residency when it sunk in that Peter truly was going to be living with a stranger in an unfamiliar city cramped in a new apartment without any of his possessions. 

Without a glance his way, the Marshal strode through the empty building towards the stairs. They climbed two floors in relative silence, Peter feeling like each step was far too loud. 

The door to apartment 22D had yellow peeling paint and a rusty looking mail slot. Stark jingled the keys into the lock with a cheerful whistle, seeming perfectly at ease. Peter stood behind him with his arms crossed and hands balled up in his armpits, eyes darting about the empty hallway. A door across the hall swung open and an elderly man shuffled out with a scrappy looking dog on a leash. He looked surprised at the two of them but quickly smiled and gave a friendly wave, the dog yapping by his ankles. 

Peter nodded back with a tightlipped smile but he suspected it looked closer to a grimace. Stark got the door open and Peter hastily followed him into the dark apartment. When the light was flicked on, Peter found that the layout of the room was very similar to his home. The furniture was a little less beaten up and the walls were a different color, but Peter was pleasantly surprised. 

“Your room is the one next to the bathroom, there’s already some clothes in there.” The Marshal gestured vaguely further into the apartment while browsing the fridge for a snack. “There’s also basic toiletries like toothbrushes, shampoo, ect. Some of your clothes and stuff will be showing up some time this week, but it’s best to distance yourself from most of your old life as much as possible. You’re only supposed to be with us for a month and some change, but we’re gonna be as careful as possible with Kingpin combing the state for your sorry ass.” 

Peter glanced up but quickly looked away, getting the distinct feeling Stark was making fun of him. With a jerky nod, Peter turned towards his new room and slowly pushed the door open. It was almost completely barren of anything indicating anyone lived there. Inexplicably, Peter found his ears tearing up. He carefully closed the door behind him and let tears fall freely. Clamping his teeth into the flesh of his hand to muffle his sobs, Peter slid down the wall until he was slumped mostly on the floor. 

Again, the longing for his Aunt’s comfort hit him like a truck and he tasted blood on his tongue. When he’d finished having a good, long cry session, he slouched over to the dresser to grab a random clean outfit. He slowly opened his door and peered out into the kitchen and living room for any signs of Tony. The coast was clear, so he quickly crossed the tiny hall and slipped into the bathroom. 

Glancing at his puffy eyes and blood smeared on his chin, Peter decided a warm shower would do him some good. 

Once he was finished, he glanced at his watch sitting on top of his clean clothes and noticed it was later than he’d anticipated. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled in reminder he hadn’t eaten anything all day. So he dressed himself, combed his fingers through his wet hair, and left in search of some lunch. 

Tony was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, some news channel playing quietly. He looked up as Peter entered the room and almost too casually switched to a football game. 

Peter awkwardly made his way to the kitchen, trying not to feel like he was taking someone else’s food in someone else’s home, he went through the process of slapping a PB&J together. As he spread the jelly, he noticed the obvious bite marks scabbing on his hand. Peter finished up making his food and began washing the knife by hand, the running water and soft sounds of cheering from the tv filling up the empty silence helped Peter relax somewhat but not enough where he no longer felt like he was intruding. 

Leaning against the counter, Peter considered joining Tony on the couch but decided against it. Instead, he poured himself a small glass of milk and sat himself down at the table to eat. 

Not for the first time, Peter’s mind driften in thought of where May might be. Was she also living in a small apartment by herself in a new city with a new job? Was she also devastatingly alone? Peter lost his Uncle, but she lost her husband of thirty or more years. 

Peter spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, thankful he’d held onto his phone. It was running low on battery but Peter didn’t use it for much besides listening to music while he laid on top of the bed covers. He didn’t try to sleep, instead staring up at the ceiling as familiar songs drifted through his ears. It was pretty easy to relax as the music he’d grown up listening to played on repeat, just not enough to slip into dreams. 

Some time passed when there was a knock on his door and he sat up, tugging his earbuds free as Stark opened the door. 

“I’m ordering pizza for dinner, what kind do you want?” Peter shrugged. 

“Anything’s fine.” Tony nodded, before glancing around the room once. 

“More clothes should show up this week along with school supplies.” Peter swallowed a groan. He opened his mouth to ask why he had to go to  _ school _ of all places when running from the most powerful gangster in New York, but Stark was already gone.

When the pizza arrived, opened his door to see Tony standing by the island with the box open and a slice already in hand. Peter didn’t recognize the pizza place that’d delivered. May always chose his favorite place and if not, he knew the others in Queens. 

He got out another plain white plate to set a slice down on instead of risking dropping anything on the ground. Tony moved back to the couch with another slice, the sound of some show he didn’t know the name of filled the room. 

The pizza had too much sauce and the cheese wasn’t melted enough, the crust a different texture than he’d expected and it left behind black soot on his fingers. It was just shitty pizza, he’d had far worse from school lunches, but an ugly feeling bubbled up in the back of his throat and a tear slid down his face before he could stop it. 

Keeping his back to the other room, Peter quickly got himself a glass of water to smother any crying sounds he made. His hands itched to do something more than lie around so he started loading the dinky little dishwasher. It looked a decade older than the one back home but it got the job done. 

Once he’d finished that, Peter awkwardly hovered by where the tiles turned into beige carpet. Eventually, he bit the bullet and joined the older man on the couch. 

The show was a random reality show Peter hadn’t bothered watching, but he could see his Aunt sitting in front of it with a glass of wine and a fuzzy blanket tucked under feet with her head resting on Ben’s chest. He could almost hear the sound of his lips meeting her cheek and his fingers running through her hair. 

“I forgot to tell you,” Tony said around a mouthful. “Our cover name is ‘Anderson’.” 

“‘Our’?” Peter asked, blinking away the fantasy. Tony glanced at him through the corner of his eye.

“Saying we’re family is the easiest way to explain why a minor and a man twice his age are living together, isn’t it?” Peter nodded in understanding. “Just call me Uncle Tony.” The smile on his face was almost mocking and Peter felt like vomiting. 

“I’m gonna turn in for the night.” He blurted and shot to his feet like he’d been electrified. “Goodnight.” 

He got no answer. 

The next morning Peter immediately took a hot shower, spending nearly a half hour under the scalding spray. He was all too aware of the way his eyes were stinging and puffy from crying himself to sleep, but again he avoided looking at himself in the mirror. 

Breakfast was a piece of peanut butter and jelly toast in an empty room. Peter thought that Tony was still sleeping until he heard the door lock turn over and someone walking in. 

There were two grocery bags in his hands, one bulging with clothes and the other more lumpy like actual groceries. Peter watched with interest as he plopped them on the counter and unloaded the food first. It was mainly just basics like milk, cereal, lunch meat, a little fruit, and a couple cans of soup. Tony didn’t acknowledge Peter hovering by the sink to observe him so he didn’t either. 

“For you.” He said, holding the second back out on one finger. Peter hesitantly reached out to take it, peering in to see some t-shirts and pants bunched up inside. 

“Thanks.” When he didn’t say more, Peter slowly made his way back into his room to put away his new clothes. The plain white paint in his room felt cold and impersonal, unlike his soft yellow walls back home. He glanced up at his ceiling, desperately missing his peeling glow-in-the-dark stars that’d long since stopped lighting up at night.

He sat criss-cross on his bed, pulling rumpled clothes into his lap to fold them one by one. This task was finished quickly and he stood in the middle of his room, staring at his filled dresser with eyes that drifted out of focus. 

It didn’t feel real, what happened. Yet he could still feel the skin pulling around his scabs and the bloodstained outfit he’d worn that night was crumpled up in a corner under his sink. Uncle Ben being truly gone didn’t seem possible, not when he was always so vibrant and  _ alive _ . Peter could still feel his large palms rubbing his back, see his dimples and the crows feet around his eyes. He could still  _ smell _ him. 

Peter realized he was sitting on the side of his bed, but he didn’t remember crossing the room to it. It didn’t matter. He leaned back and stared at his star-less ceiling on top of sheets that felt like they belonged to a hotel room.

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the familiar cracked screen lighting up. It was slowly inching towards death, but Peter still swiped it open to his messages.

_ Stay safe out there, love you two! _

_ Home in 5 :)  _

Peter hadn’t said anything to either of them, just a small string of emojis in response. It was the normal reply from him, but guilt still gnawed at his stomach. Their last words to each other were nothing more than a few words sent while walking out the door, simple and fleeting. 

He hadn’t been explicitly told he wasn’t allowed to be in contact with his Aunt, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be allowed if he asked. They had recommended being separated for her safety and her calling him up might blow either of their covers. Maybe she deleted him from her contacts. Maybe he should too.

As he scrolled through his short contacts, he glanced down at Uncle Ben’s name sitting there innocently on the screen. Before he could think too much about it, he clicked on the name and brought the phone up to his ear. 

It rang for about a minute, Peter holding his breath the whole time, before going to voicemail. What had he been expecting? He let out an explosive sigh, but it caught in his throat when Ben’s voice filtered through the poor quality speakers. 

_ “Hey, you’ve reached Ben Parker. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you soon. Unless I don’t.”  _ A shaky laugh burst from his lips and he dragged fingers through his hair.

“Hey Uncle Ben.” Peter whispered, the words thick with unshed tears. He curled tightly onto his side, clutching the phone with both hands like it would slip from his grasp. “It’s been a crazy few days, huh?” Teeth locked into the skin between his thumb and palm, choking back a sob. “I-I really miss you…” He shakily mumbled before the tears started streaming uncontrollably down his face. Biting deeper into his hand, he tried to be as quiet as possible so Tony wouldn’t hear. A mixture of embarrassment and anxiety on how he’d react to hearing him fall apart like a toddler. How many times had he broken down over something so small now?

Peter opened his mouth, lip trembling, to say something else but a hiccup interrupted him and he stabbed the end call button with his thumb. The phone slipped out of his fingers and fell somewhere he didn’t see, too busy trying to get his breathing back under control while suppressing the loud crying noises that kept fighting to get out. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and a pain radiated from the center of his chest, fear slowly seeping in as he continued to struggle to regulate air into his lungs. 

Eventually, Peter calmed down and sat up on the bed. Face hot and itchy, he dug his knuckles into his eye sockets to ease the sensation and stumbled towards the door. Outside, it was silent except for the low hum of music coming from Tony’s room. He crept across the hall with careful steps, feeling stupidly like he was hiding something. 

In the mirror, Peter glanced over his bloodshot eyes and deep bags tiredly. He turned on the faucett and let it warm slightly before rubbing it almost brutally against his face. Snot and tears washed away, the lukewarm water cooling him down slightly. Wiping himself dry, Peter slowly sat down on the lip of the bathtub. His hands shook slightly as he stared down at them, some of his hair still clinging damply to his temple. 

Eyes slowly drifted upwards towards the cupboard under the sink. Slowly reaching out, Peter grasped the cold handle and pulled it open. Moving aside a small package of toilet paper, the dirty clothes from  _ that _ day sat there in the corner. Glancing at the garbage can beside it, Peter noticed the grocery bag Tony gave him that he’d thrown away earlier. He fished it out and used it to scoop the bloody fabric into it like he’d done with doggy bags, swiftly tying the handle into a tight knot. 

Feeling vaguely jittery, he stumbled out of the bathroom and crossed the living room with wide steps to the front door. Peter fumbled with the lock and his heart rate skyrocketed, desperately trying to be silent. Thankfully, Tony’s music was loud and Peter made his escape without detection. Clenching a fist tightly into the plastic bag, he stumbled down the hall towards the steps. He had no shoes on and he knew he’d look crazy if anyone stuck out their head to see him rushing down the stairs. 

He made it to the lobby and burst outside, socks instantly getting soaked. Peter paid that no mind and shuffled to the side of the building, spying the dumpsters there. Before he could rethink it, he tossed the bag with the offending clothes and slammed the lid down. Briefly, Peter entertained setting the contents aflame inside the metal container. He didn’t, of course, instead turning to slump back where he’d come from, but he still thought about doing it. 

In his fevered run for the trash, Peter hadn’t even considered if he’d be able to reenter the building. Either good luck or pure coincidence, the door had not locked behind him and he entered while dodging the eyes of the landlord peering at him from behind a newspaper. 

The walk back to the apartment took much longer than the mad dash down. Anxiety turned his stomach and he felt sick, his socks clinging in a disgusting way to the soles of his feet. Peter shoved his hands into his pockets to give himself something to do and felt his heart jump when he noticed he hadn’t even closed the door fully behind himself, it hanging slightly ajar where anyone could walk in.

Peter gnawed on his lower lip and shut the door with as little noise possible, holding his breath as he listened for any sign his absence had been noticed. Music continued to drift out from the hallway without any sign of his temporary guardian which Peter guessed meant he had remained undetected. 

His stomach suddenly gurgled and Peter glanced up at the clock to see it was nearly half past three, meaning he had completely missed lunch. Now aware from his hunger, Peter made his way into the kitchen to browse the new options Tony had gotten. There wasn’t very much readily available still, but Peter was glad for anything other than another sandwich. 

To his surprise, while he’d been halfway through heating up a bowl of canned ravioli, the music shut off and Tony came strolling in. 

“Great, just the kid I was looking for.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just got it confirmed that you’ll be doing homeschooling to get caught up in your classes since it’s currently midwinter-break. Then you’ll be attending in person classes.” Peter nodded, turning back to watch the bowl circle endlessly in the microwave. There was a moment of tense silence before Tony cleared his throat. “Alright, good talk.” 

A few seconds later, the tv was flipped on and Peter’s food was done. For a moment, Peter nearly strolled back into his room to eat alone, like he would back home. Here, he had no clue what Tony’s house rules were, he didn’t seem like the type to have kids, had he mentioned any? Peter couldn’t remember. He played it safe and again sat at the empty table, awkwardly glancing over Tony’s shoulder to watch while he ate. 

“Come join me for a sec, kid.” Peter glanced up from the sink where he’d been watching the water run red with the marinara sauce. He slowly put his dishes down and wandered over to Marshal Stark.

The man glanced at Peter from the corner of his eye before turning back to the screen. “Look, I’m gonna be real with you for a sec.” Peter tilted his head towards Tony, but when he didn’t make eye contact he too turned towards the tv. “I know you’re going through...whatever right now, and all the teen angst, but you’re gonna have to make a better effort for your cover. Can’t have people seeing us together and thinking I kidnapped you, huh? Just, yknow, smile and do kid stuff when we go out and act like nothing’s going on and it’ll be okay. Got it?” Peter swallowed and stared down at his hands in his lap, feeling weirdly trapped. 

“Yeah, I got it.” He murmured. 

“Yes sir.” Tony corrected him. Peter’s throat closed. 

“Yes sir.” He croaked out. Seemingly satisfied, he leaned back and focused fully onto what he’d been watching. Peter stood on numb legs and quickly returned to his room. 

It probably hadn’t meant to sound like a threat, Peter mused, but it couldn’t be helped. Just like how it couldn’t be helped that in that moment Tony had reminded him of the men that’d held down and shot his uncle. 

Collapsing onto his bed, shuffling his feet together to slip off his dirty socks, Peter felt such an intense wave of exhaustion that caused him to curl up under the cold covers and fall asleep almost instantly. 

After that, a sort of routine began. Peter started his online catchup for school after Tony provided him a laptop he stated was strictly for school and nothing else. That lasted from the morning to lunch time, taking up a considerable chunk of his day, while Tony left for work about the same time. He didn’t say where but it was seemingly at some gas station a couple blocks away, the name stamped on top the name tag Peter saw by his keys one day. 

After ‘school’ Peter would eat lunch in his room, do some chores around the apartment, and then have the rest of the day to himself. 

He hadn’t been given a phone charger yet and he was hesitant to ask for one. Instead, Peter kept it shut off for most of the day and tried occupying his time with anything else he could find. Deep cleaning the bathroom, making a grocery list, getting started on the next day’s school work, even resorting to a few desperate forms of entertainment. He felt weird sitting in front of the tv all day or laying in bed for hours like he kept getting impulses to do. Instead, he tried his hand at drawing on some blank printer paper he’d found or sticky notes in. Peter didn’t like it too much since it was hard to think of ideas to put on paper and he wasn’t very good at it. 

It was weirdly calming though, once he got into the flow of it. Even if it wasn’t as fun as doing chem labs or researching one of his favorite engineers' newest work endlessly. Still, he often found himself with large amounts of freetime he didn’t know what to do with.

The thing is, Tony didn’t give him rules. At least, not like Aunt May did. Like, Peter knew that he couldn’t contact anyone for both his and their safety. He also knew that the laptop was for school only and to not bother Tony while at work. There were no house rules though.

No chore chart, no curfew, and no screen time limitations. May had always had a detailed chart to share the chores evenly between the two of them and a strict curfew on school nights. He wasn’t allowed to stay up all night on his phone but she trusted him to keep his electronics in his room. 

Tony didn’t do any of this with Peter. It was like he thought Peter should just know and do it without needing to be told. It caused copious amounts of anxiety throughout the day, especially when it was nearing the time Tony would be home. 

They lived pretty separately from each other, Tony going to work for most of the day and on his days off he’d sit on the couch and relax or lock himself in his room to blast music. It was painfully awkward. 

When school started up, Peter was thankful for something to occupy his time, even if it was surrounded by a thousand kids he didn’t know. So, Peter got ready for his first day with robotic movements, stomach churning enough that he decided to skip breakfast. The school was almost twice as big as his old highschool and he wouldn’t know a single person. Peter felt his nervousness was justified. 

Tony was waiting for him at the breakfast bar, a yogurt in one hand and his car keys in the others. 

“Let’s go.” He said, hopping off his seat once he saw Peter emerge from his room. 

The drive would have been suffocatingly silent if Tony didn’t turn on his favorite rock station to blast music. 

“Thank you, sir.” Peter said once they’d come to a stop. His eyes followed the thick crowds of teens filing into the front doors. 

“Yeah, it was on my way. You gotta walk home.” Nodding, he stiffly unbuckled himself and pushed the door open. Tony drove away before Peter could decide whether to wave goodbye or not.

The lady behind the front desk smelled like peppermint and cats, and Peter liked her from the moment she smiled at him. 

“What can I do ya for, sweetheart?” She asked, peering at him from behind thick glasses attacked by those old lady chains. 

“I’m Peter P-” He swallowed. “...Anderson. I’m, uh, new here.” She smiled kindly at him and turned to her computer, pink acrylic nails clicking away. 

“Yes, Anderson. Got ya here, honey. You finished the packet we set home?” Peter nodded and passed it over. She glanced over it once, smiled, and plopped it on top of a small stack of papers. “Alrighty, you need your schedule and this is a map of campus. My TA will help you look over it and get to classes today so ya don’t get lost.” Peter nodded, taking the two offered items and gave her a weak smile, glancing over to the teen girl by her desk typing away on her phone. When the woman turned towards her, she quickly stuffed it into her pocket. “Have a good first day, sweetheart.” 

The teen stood and walked out the door, Peter mumbling a thanks and chased after her. 

“Schedule?” She asked, holding out an expecting hand. “Okay, first class is this way. I’ll meet you outside it to help you to second period and stuff.”

“Thank you.” Peter said, her legs were much longer than his and he was having to speed walk to keep up with her strides. She didn’t say anything else until they got to his junior english class. He waved but she seemingly didn’t see it because she was already walking away. 

The class was normal, like any other class back home, except he had to introduce himself and stumble over a couple answers when the teacher asked him about himself. 

The day passed in a quick blur but the boring parts dragged on and on, like Peter trying to find a place to eat lunch but ended up camping out in the boys bathroom. 

In his sixth period he met someone that reminded him of someone he hadn’t been sad to leave behind. 

“So why’d you move here?” The boy next to him said, eyes sharp as they glanced from his worn down backpack and tennis shoes riddled with holes. 

Peter floundered for a moment, licking his lips nervously. He hadn’t gone over that with Tony. What did he say? Did Tony already tell the school one story and forgot to tell Peter? 

“Um…” Peter stalled. The boy’s eyes narrowed.

“What? Mom got caught cheating and your dad left? Kidnaped by your stepmom? Spit it out.” Peter knew he couldn’t possibly know what’d happened to his real parents, but it still struck a nerve to hear someone talk about them that way.

“Don’t have a mom and dad.” He grit out eventually. The other kid had enough decency to look away and mumble an apology, even if it sounded insincere. “I live with my u-uncle.” 

“My name's Tyler.” He said after an awkward silence. 

“Peter.” 

“My dad’s the principal here.” Tyler said, his grin looking like a threat. 

“That’s cool.” 

“I’m having a birthday party next week at my place with a bunch of my friends. You can come, get to know the student body. Make friends.” 

“Oh…” Peter’s eyes slid past Tyler’s face towards the rambunctious guys he’d mentioned towards as ‘friends.’ One was currently holding another in a tight headlock while their face rapidly turned magenta and two others were egging him on with laughter and kicks at the kid’s legs. “I don’t think I can make it.” 

Tyler’s eyes hardened. “Your loss.” They didn’t speak for the rest of the period. 

As Peter walked down the school’s steps, head down and eyes on his dirty shoes, he could hear some of Tyler and his friends laughing and joking about something that he had a suspicion wouldn’t be too kind towards him. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by two sharp honks from a car horn. Glancing up in surprise he made eye contact with a very pissed looking Tony. Peter blinked once before hurrying across the round-about towards the black vehicle. 

“I thought you said I was-” Peter started as he opened the door.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my texts? Huh? I also called you like a hundred times! You trying to make my job harder, kid?” Tony seethed, throwing the car into drive and speeding up quickly towards the road before Peter had the chance to buckle. “Here I was, out of work early and thought ‘It’s the kid’s first day of school, I’ll be nice and pick him up since I’m heading home anyways’ so I text you what’s up. And what do I get? Radio fucking silence from the kid I’m supposed to guard with my life. You want me to get fired? Is that what you want, me in trouble with the big boss?” 

“N-no sir.” Peter answered, clutching his backpack to his chest.

“Then what? Wanted me to worry? To go looking for you? Wanted to run away back to your Aunt?” Tony demanded, the speedometer ticking slowly upwards. 

“No, sir.” He said, voice stronger. “I didn’t have my phone on me.” 

Tony nearly slammed into the car pulling out in front of them. The tires squealed and there was a rude gesture made towards them as they sped off. 

“What?” His knuckles on the steering wheel were white. 

“My phone, I left it at home...I didn’t have a charger and it died last night.” No one spoke a word for the next ten minutes, Peter’s heart rate slowly increasing every minute.

They pulled into the apartment’s parking lot and Tony stopped the car in their usual spot. He seemed to be gathering his patience as he took deep breaths, staring straight ahead. 

“Why didn’t you ask for a charger?” Tony finally managed through clenched teeth. 

“I thought…” Peter swallowed, shoulders hunched nearly to his ears. “I thought if I needed one, you’d have got it. Like the clothes. You...you never told me if I could keep my phone or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to keep your phone?” He snapped. “How am I supposed to reach you at all times? Smoke signals?” Peter flinched slightly, wishing that there was more space between them. 

“All of my old phone contacts and my old number, anyone I knew could call me or message me and you might not trust me to cut myself off...I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Peter wanted the yelling to stop, Tony was a trained U.S. Marshal and could probably take Peter out with a hand tied behind his back. Dread cramped his stomach and his hands shook against his will. 

Without another word, Tony shut the car off and threw the driver’s door open. Hesitantly, Peter stepped onto the pavement and closed his door behind himself. 

Following the man’s rigid figure up the stairs, Peter briefly considered apologizing again. He thought against it, Tony didn’t seem like he’d appreciate it just then.

Glancing up warily, Peter quietly closed the door behind him as Tony stormed off to his room. He jumped when the door was slammed shut behind him. 

Feeling jittery, Peter hesitantly sat at the kitchen table and began working on his homework. Sometimes he’d hear a loud noise down the hall, like Tony was throwing things around, and Peter’s handwriting became illegible. 

About an hour later, after he’d quieted down, Peter was finishing up when Tony’s door opened and the man appeared. His gut clenched as he approached but Peter told himself he was being ridiculous, Tony was hired to protect Peter. 

A phone charger landed on the table, Tony’s face carefully neutral. Peter blinked at it for a few seconds before slowly taking it.

“Thank you, sir.” Tony nodded once.

“I’m sorry I lost my cool earlier.” He muttered, arms crossed over his chest as if he was uncomfortable with what he’d just said.

“It’s okay.” Peter murmured.

Tony remained in his room for the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where’d that come from?” 

“I dunno, probably kicked the wall in my sleep.” 

Tony shrugged and didn’t bring it up again, which Peter was thankful for. The truth was he vividly remembered where he got said bruise from, but he was both hesitant and embarrassed to say where.

It had happened during lunch, in Peter’s usual spot to eat lunch. Which was the boy’s restroom in the cafeteria. He’d finished his food and was throwing away his garbage when Tyler and his group of lackeys entered. Tyler’s eyes were sharp as they scrutinized Peter, who was frozen in surprise at getting caught. It wasn’t like it was a secret Peter had no friends, but it was embarrassing to have someone find out you spend every lunch period in the bathroom alone. 

“You were  _ eating _ in here? That’s disgusting.” Tyler laughed, his friends quickly catching on.

It had escalated further until Peter was being shoved into a stall, his shin connecting painfully with the porcelain bowl, and his head had been shoved forcefully into the toilet as they chanted for him to take a drink.

Peter had spent ten minutes after they left drying off and scrubbing his face with hand soap, and had been an additional ten minutes late because he’d had to stop crying before entering his chemistry class. 

The bruise had appeared the morning after and Peter was wearing his pajama shorts. It was lucky how little Tony cared when he was just trying to get out the door, so Peter quickly ate his breakfast and got ready for school. 

A brand new routine had begun for Peter after his first day. Each morning Tony would take him to school, reminding him to check his phone, and Peter would move class to class alone. Then he’d either have some peace during lunch or more relentless torture at the hands of the school’s favorite prick. Sixth period was a nightmare and then Peter would walk home, unless he got cornered again. 

It seemed like there would be a Flash no matter where you went. Someone that would put you down, belittle you, be the neighborhood bully, and no one could escape that. Peter was lucky that his Flash, the one back home, was too much of a coward to do anything physical to Peter. Tyler wasn’t though, being the principal's son gave him a level of immunity that went straight to his head. 

Today he got braver and followed Peter a block away from school before he jumped him, ransacking his backpack and emptying out his pockets. They laughed at his second hand clothes and well used school supplies, also taunting him over his outdated and cracked phone. It was obvious they all came from a privileged background where they could afford brand new things and not have to worry about causing their parent’s bills to be too much that month, resulting in no warm showers and the electricity getting turned off for a week. 

After the mockery ended, Peter was left with scraped knees and a bloody nose. He hailed himself to his feet, ribs aching from a particularly vicious kick he’d gotten there. Peter carefully picked some dirt and grit stuck in his hands and picked his backpack up from the puddle it’d been tossed in. 

When Peter got back to the apartment, he dropped his backpack by the couch and collapsed onto the cushions with a groan. He felt exhausted to his very bones and once again found himself longing hopelessly for May’s soft hands in his hair and her gentle voice whispering soothing words to him. 

Without meaning to, he fell asleep there with his mind filled with the lullaby of his aunt’s touch. 

The dreams he had started out pleasant but quickly morphed into a retelling of  _ that _ night, filled with the dark glares of the assailants and blood spilling from a gunshot wound right between Ben’s eyes. Even if Peter hadn’t witnessed this in reality, his brain continued to weave explicit details behind his eyelids. 

The sound of something hitting the floor cracked like a gunshot through Peter’s ears loud enough for him to shoot awake, body trembling with adrenaline. 

Gasping, he made eye contact with Tony, who was leaning over towards the spoon he’d dropped. Slowly, he stood back up and placed the offending utensil onto the island. Cheeks flaring red, Peter wiped sweat off his brow and forced his ragged breathing back to normal levels. Without looking back, Peter got to his feet and rushed to his room, pushing through the dark spots creeping in from the blood rushing to his head.

Dinner was a quiet affair that night, Tony once again had gotten take out and they were watching a movie together. Or trying to at least, Peter couldn’t really focus. 

The next day was a Friday, meaning Peter had to walk to school that morning since Tony was already at work. He worked night shifts on Thursdays and had Friday afternoons off. 

That morning, Peter was both surprised and pleased to see the gentle flurry of snowflakes fall from the grey clouds kissing the tops of Jersey’s skyscrapers. Peter liked snow, maybe not being in it for too long, but he did enjoy how it looked falling and on the ground. 

School was normal all day, except for the excited buzz from students as attention was drawn to the increasingly heavier snowfall. It was a little early in the year for more than sludge after it snows, but the anticipation for the weekend made it all the more harder for students to remain focused all day. The lunch room was mostly empty since most kids were out playing in the inch of powder. 

Peter decided to try and sit at an actual table for once, since there was a surplus of completely empty spots. With his eyes locked on one he’d have all to himself in the corner of the cafeteria, he didn’t notice that his left shoelace had come undone. And because the universe hated him, he didn’t trip over them until he was at Tyler’s crowded table.

The table went silent after the first exclamation of surprise, Peter’s mashed potatoes dripping from Tyler’s hair and down the back of his shirt. Another unfortunate detail, the gravy was staining the white hoodie he had on. 

“You think this is funny?” Tyler demanded, jumped to his feet. “Think you can try and humiliate me like that? You’re dead, Anderson. You hear me? I’m gonna kick your ass.” Peter was quite literally saved by the bell as the end of lunch bell rang. Tyler’s poisonous glare made it impossible for Peter to stutter out the apologies that’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue, or to move as his group filed out of the cafeteria. 

Peter skipped his next period completely to have a panic attack in the bathroom. It was the first one he’d had in a few years, but it was just as scary and debilitating as he remembered. 

Sixth period was a nightmare all on it’s own. 

His hands trembled uncontrollably over his notes as he felt the glares of the other boys pressing in on him from all sides. He was so focused on his escape plans that when the teacher called on him, they had to say his name twice which was enough for snickers to erupt throughout the room. Even worse, Peter had no clue what the answer was, so he froze with his heart pounding in his throat. 

Of course, the teacher wasn’t mean about it, a simple reprimand to pay closer attention, but Peter’s face still burned in embarrassment. 

The end of class approached so swiftly Peter nearly felt dizzy with it, his plans for a swift escape were slowly being crushed as he got caught in the crowd slowly squeezing out the door. Then, there were dozens of students choking the path out the doors because there had been a field trip and they all had to check into the front office before going home. 

Bursting from the crowd, Peter felt like he’d made it, but tripped over someone’s shoe and tumbled. Not only just onto the ground, but down the stairs leading up to the school. 

A quick hush fell over the crowd as they stared at the boy struggling back to his feet, chin scraped and palms bloody. All the eyes on him left his stomach in a twist.

“S-sorry.” Peter muttered, looking down to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. “Tripped.” For a moment, it was still, but then Peter tossed his backpack over one shoulder and took off running. 

Laughter and feet following him swiftly echoed down the street, Peter’s chest tightening in fear. It was a feeling reminiscent of the times in elementary school he’d had intense asma, except it was tinged with the taste of panic and fear. 

A hand closed around the back of his hood, yanking him to a violent stop. His back hit the ground, momentarily stunning him, and they were on him like a pack of wolves. Peter shouted and flailed, uncoordinated hands batting away his attackers, but feet still trampled over his limbs and jeers rang in his ears as Tyler’s fist connected with Peter’s face. 

“HEY!” 

The boys froze at the authoritative yell, Tyler’s knuckles splattered with Peter’s blood, and stared at whoever was swiftly approaching. Peter’s eyes struggled to focus, his brain still rattling in his skull, but he still peered between the group’s legs to see work pants and tennis shoes. 

A hand grabbed Tyler by the collar, hauling him off Peter, and there was more shouting but Peter just rested his head on the concrete with his eyes on the grey sky above him. The snow had slowed to a flurry, small flakes slowly attaching themselves to his eyelashes. 

Footsteps rushed off and Peter could hear their voices quickly fade away. Large hands enclosed around his arms and slowly pulled him into a sitting position. Peter squinted up to see Tony’s face staring down at him, brow furrowed and a frown twisted on his lips. 

“Tony?” Peter asked, head feeling like it’d been cracked against the pavement. “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s Friday, I was waiting in the parent’s loop like usual.” Was his terse reply. 

“Oh.” Peter let himself get pulled to his feet, swaying slightly. “Guess I forgot.” One hand around Peter’s elbow and the other holding his backpack, Tony led the two of them back towards the school. To Peter's surprise, the car door was unlocked already when Tony pulled on it and he glanced up to see that the driver’s side was hanging open. 

His backpack was tossed into the backseat and Peter was handed a box of tissues from a glove compartment before Tony slammed the door shut. When he walked around the car, Peter blinked owlishly at him when he closed the door and locked it. Twisting around in his seat, tissue pressed to his bleeding nose, Peter watched Tony climb the school steps and walk into the front office. 

Squirming to get comfortable, he closed his eyes to try and alleviate the headache starting to form. A nap sounded very tempting in that moment but Peter didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep with the little voice nagging at the back of his head saying he’d once again managed to royally piss Tony off. 

He jumped when the car unlocked, signalling Tony’s return. The car’s engine rumbled to life and without a look Peter’s way, Tony pulled onto the road towards the apartment. 

Slouching through the door, Peter dropped his backpack on the carpet and kicked his shoes off. He flung himself face first onto the couch, ignoring the stinging along his bruised cheekbone, and groaned. 

“Hey, don’t get blood on the couch.” Tony piped up from the kitchen. Raising his face off the fabric, he was relieved to find that it’d all dried in the car.

“‘s stopped bleeding in the car.” He mumbled back, resting his cheek on the cool cushion. Tony grunted but didn’t press further on the matter. 

Legs obscured his view suddenly and Peter glanced up to see Tony with an ice pack in one hand and a clean shirt in the other. Confused and rather hesitant, he reached out to take the offered items. Peter flicked his eyes up at his guardian once before gingerly pressing the cold pack onto his face. 

Almost awkwardly, Tony stood for a moment watching Peter struggle out of his scuffed up and bloodstained shirt one handed before he sighed and began helping him remove the ruined clothes.

“Thank you.” Tony didn’t reply, instead moving into the tiny laundry room to toss it into the sink. Huddling into himself, Peter laid back down on his side and curled his legs to his chest. 

With a low groan, Tony sat down on the couch beside him. He propped his feet up, tossing his name tag and car keys onto the coffee table. 

“That wasn’t the first time.” 

“No, sir.” Peter answered, even if it hadn’t really been a question. 

Tony let out a long sigh and Peter closed his eyes, unable to shake off the feeling that Tony was still angry with him. After a little while, when the ice pack was starting to get wetter than was comfortable, and Tony had flipped on the tv on a volume low, Peter drifted to sleep. 

Tyler wasn’t at school Monday morning. Neither were a few of his friends, none of which Peter had bothered learning the names of. It was a relief to have his final period be so quiet, but there was still the tension between himself and his peers.

Tony was picking him up after school, even though it was a Monday and Peter always walked home unless it was Friday. 

He didn’t bring it up, even if Tony seemed to be in a pretty good mood that day. Peter almost asked why he wasn’t at work, but thought better of it. 

That night Tony asked Peter what he wanted for dinner, whether that was take out or something homecooked, and it probably shouldn’t have stopped him in his tracks. It was surprising enough that he accidentally stared at Tony long enough for him to break into a scowl and mutter something under his breath.

“You dont-you don’t have to.” Peter stuttered out, face red. “I can find something.” 

“I know I don’t have to, kid.” Tony deadpanned, some annoyance creeping into his tone. “I’m offering.” Swallowing, Peter slowly nodded.

“We can um...we do spaghetti?” He blurted, thinking of the first and easiest thing they had. “But I’m fine with anything.” 

“Spaghetti it is.” Tony got out the supplies, rummaging through the cupboards in search of the sauce and boxed noodles. 

Hands twitching, Peter slowly joined him with hesitant steps. He felt bad just sitting there and not helping, so he got out a pot and began filling it with water. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Tony stare at him, but when he looked up he had his back to him. 

It was weirdly comforting, the only sounds in the quiet apartment gently echoing as the water started boiling and Tony began making a salad from a prepackaged bag. 

For a moment, Peter could almost imagine he was with his Aunt. Their cozy kitchen dimly lit by the setting sun as Peter did most of the cooking, so it’d actually end up edible. He could almost smell the burnt meatballs she tried throwing into the oven, air thick with smoke and their laughter.

Peter stumbled when he turned to drain the noodles and the vision faded in front of his eyes, the lights had been flipped on since the sun had long set and Tony was setting the table. 

Sitting there too long with a hot pot gripped in his palms, Peter flinched as the heat became too much suddenly and he hissed in pain. The handles slipped from his fingers and he exclaimed in surprise as boiling water splashed down his shirt. 

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for almost the whole thing to come tumbling to the floor. Thankfully, Peter quickly slammed it down on the stovetop and stumbled back against the island. Chest heaving, he peeled his shirt away from the burned skin and tears filled his eyes. 

“Oh my god.” He heard Tony gasp, and his hands were gently tugged away from his steaming clothes. Swiftly, the shirt was pulled over his head without dragging across the burned skin before Peter began to really feel the burn. 

He was quickly maneuvered into the bathroom and pushed to sit down on the lip of the tub, Tony’s movement was calm and quick which made Peter relax somewhat. It hurt, like  _ really _ bad, but if it was bad then Tony would probably take him to the hospital. A moment later, he was kneeling in front of Peter with a first aid kit open on the floor. 

The cloth wasn’t comfortable on his swelling skin, but it was cool and moist against the scalded flesh. 

Peter’s hands were shaking, so he gripped onto the porcelain of the bath and tried not to lean away from the administrations. After a while, the skin was now an angry red but didn’t feel like it was a burning wound anymore so Tony began gently rinsing it with some soap. It didn’t feel great, but Peter vaguely recalled some basic first aid training he’d gotten when he’d been in boy’s scouts for a year. 

“What happened?” Tony murmured after a minute, having moved onto spreading a cream Peter didn’t know the name of across his chest. 

Peter clenched his fingers into the fabric of his jeans, a flash of his Aunt’s smiling face as she sheepishly told him she’d ordered pizza after turning their dinner into a chardded lump. 

“I don’t know.” It probably wasn’t believable if the look Tony shot him was any indication, but he wasn’t questioned further. “Guess I just slipped.” Peter mumbled. 

The noise Tony made sounded suspiciously like a scoff, but he finished wrapping Peter’s burn with a loose bandage and got to his feet with a grunt.

“You’re lucky, it’s just a surface burn. Gotta use your eyes more, kid.” Peter’s face flushed and he would have felt a hundred times worse about it if he didn’t look up and see that unlike any time before, Tony’s eyes weren’t hard or reprimanding. Tony was teasing him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Peter said, returning his gaze to the ground. Neither said a word for a moment before Tony sighed. 

“Guess I’ll finish up dinner while you change into something that won’t rub too much on those bandages.” 

“I can help-” He started, but Tony held up a finger to effectively stop Peter’s objections.

“Not after the stunt you just pulled, your kitchen privileges are revoked for the day.” Again, the words were softer than Peter expected since there wasn’t a trace of true anger or annoyance in Tony’s eyes. Almost dumbfounded, Peter nodded and got to his feet. 

Was it wrong how unsettled Peter was? That this new attitude from Tony had made everything feel slightly off? Like Peter was missing something vitally important. 

Tony was just setting the food down on the table when Peter returned, the smell permeating the air and causing his stomach to growl audibly. 

His burn was still hurting and there was some water on the ground still, but something warm blossomed in his chest. Peter took a seat across from Tony and they both dug in, the noodles luckily had been saved despite Peter’s accident. 

Conversation was a little awkward and stilted when Tony asked about school or Peter inquired politely about the gas station, but Peter didn’t mind.

When they were both working on cleaning up, Peter loading the dishwasher while Tony filled the sink with hot soapy water to let the dirty pots soak, someone’s phone began ranging. Peter automatically reached for his, but quickly realized it’d been Tony’s phone that was receiving a call. 

“Stark here.” He answered, stepping away from the dishes. Peter couldn’t hear anything on the other end, and didn’t really feel like eavesdropping, so he turned back to his task. 

It was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Peter started the washer and began to scrub the pots Tony was in charge of.

“Got it.” Tony said, voice oddly strained. Blinking, Peter looked up in surprise. Tony hung up and turned back to Peter, face pale. Fear suddenly choked Peter, even if he didn’t know the reason why. Something was wrong. Tony dragged a hand down his face, avoiding looking at Peter. 

“What is it?” He whispered. 

“Your aunt, she…” Tony cut himself off. “Something’s happened.” 

Peter dropped the pot he was holding, soapy water splattering across the floor. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw - described panic attacks and mentions of kidnapping. stay safe

Peter found it hard to remember what happened directly after that, because static had filled his ears until he could only watch Tony’s lips move.

_Your aunt...something happened._

Tony had a strange look on his face and Peter’s eyes couldn’t focus long enough to decipher what it meant. It was like his brain had shut off everything except the most basic necessities to live, simply keeping him breathing and heart beating. Peter could only hear one thing repeat in his head. 

_Your aunt...something happened._

Hands encircled Peter’s wrists and he blinked down at where they touched. It was like he was watching a scene unfold in front of him, like Peter was merely a bystander to the events taking place. 

Then, like a rubber band snapping, Peter was aware of the voice speaking to him and the feeling of warm, calloused, skin on his skin. 

“Peter! You gotta breathe, kid!” Sucking in air sharply, Peter tried to calm his stuttering lungs. Tony had been gently shaking him to try and help Peter gather his wits. It was stupid and silly to feel so torn up without even hearing what _had_ happened. Just the knowledge of harm befalling his last living relative could bring him to his knees? “Can you hear me?” Peter nodded, neck creaking like it was pivoting on a joint. 

“What...what happened to her?” Peter’s lips trembled, but he forced out the words. Tony looked unwilling to answer the question, slowly releasing Peter’s hands. 

“We’re...not entirely sure.” Tony evaded, dragging fingers through his hair. “When the Marshal came to do his weekly check ups with her, he found her apartment door open and no sign of her. We don’t know how long she’s been missing, just that the only indication of a struggle is the broken lock on the front door.” 

“They took her.” Peter gasped, bringing his hands up to his mouth. Clutching it shut like a scream would burst forth if he didn’t. 

“Yeah, that’s what it’s looking like.” Tony said with a deep sigh of exhaustion. “There’s little to no evidence left behind but it’s clearly connected to your case.” Instead of that static quiet that’d turned him deaf before, now a ringing was building in his eardrums. 

Everything was slipping past Peter like the world was moving at hyper speed and he was stuck moving at a snail’s pace. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, like he was crumbling around the edges. Before, he’d felt like he’d been unraveling after Ben’s death but this? Peter didn’t think he could survive this feeling. Aunt May was, at the moment, assumed to be alive, but Peter had seen these people with his own two eyes. They wouldn’t show mercy to anyone beneath them, not when they had nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

“Kid, we’re gonna find her. The evidence against them is stacking up, they have a witness and a kidnapping tied to said witness. They never meant for you to get away that night, King Pin slipped up. And the NYPD is gonna bring him down for it. She’s gonna be okay.” 

It was obvious Tony didn’t believe that Peter was convinced, but neither said anything. Instead, Tony told him to hit the hay and they parted ways. 

Peter didn’t sleep well that night, not when he tossed and turned every other minute. When he did manage to drift off his mind was filled with images of Uncle Ben’s death that flowed into Aunt May’s. They were interchangeable in these nightmares, mixing into one big horror movie that left him shaking and gasping into the early hours of the morning. 

Tony was already awake when Peter emerged from his room, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. It was far earlier than Peter usually woke for school, neither of them had gotten a good night’s sleep it seemed. 

“Called your school this morning,” Tony muttered into his drink, voice rough. “Seems we both could use a day off, huh?” 

That certainly thwarted Peter’s plans of distracting himself all day with mindless school work. If he kept moving, it was like he could keep ahead of those thoughts from the night before that kept him paralized in bed. 

Taking a seat across from Tony, Peter resting his elbows on the table, they both turned their eyes to the window that overlooked the streets below their apartment. 

“I’m not cut out for this job.” 

Peter blinked, tilting his chin towards the other. Tony was still staring out at the world starting to wake. 

“I _told_ Rhodey I couldn’t-” Tony cut himself off, closing his eyes. “I was supposed to retire this year. I _was_ retired, but Rhodey-my boss-demanded my help with a new case. Said I was the only one qualified for the job. I’d seen enough shit to last a lifetime, yknow? I didn’t want it, but he was relentless.” 

“What are you trying to tell me?” Peter rasped, internally wincing at the shake in his voice. 

“What I’m trying to say,” Tony faced Peter, the bags under his eyes looking far darker from the low light. “Is maybe you needed someone else. Maybe a younger Marshal or someone with some grief counseling would have made this much easier on you.” 

A pit opened in Peter’s stomach. Was Tony saying he was quitting? That Peter was too much to handle? It was true Tony hadn’t been exactly _kind_ to him, but for some reason those words were like a stab to the gut.

Fingernails dug into the flesh in his palms and Peter bowed his head, refusing to look at Tony. Someone more understanding, someone who maybe had had kids before, would probably benefit Peter in the long run. Why did it feel like he was hearing about Aunt May disappearing all over again? 

“Kid,” Peter didn’t look up. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled in some messy business, and you might be in for hell or worse, but I’ll be here for it if that’s what you want.” Their eyes met, Peter shocked out of his screaming thoughts. Tony held steady for a moment before glancing away. “If you want someone else, I’ll go. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. You’ve been uprooted and moved in with a stranger without any say in the matter, and after what’s happened I think that’s pretty fucked up. So I’m gonna leave the next step up to you, kid.” 

Peter felt like he’d stepped off a cliff and was in that suspended second of weightlessness before reality kicked in and he plummeted. 

He must have been quiet for too long because Tony suddenly rose to his feet. He stretched and sighed, walking over to the sink to dump his mostly untouched coffee down the sink.

“I gotta do some grocery shopping today,” Tony said. Peter followed his movement across the room silently. “How ‘bout you stay here and think some more on it. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” 

Before he could say anything in return, Tony slipped on his shoes and grabbed his keys. He was out the door while Peter was still sitting there trying to process the first thing he’d said to him. 

Moving onto the couch, Peter flopped onto his back instead of his chest because it was still tender from the day before. He tossed an arm over his eyes, wondering if he could catch a little bit of sleep now that it was getting brighter outside.

He lasted five minutes in the silence before it grew to be too much and Peter switched on the tv to a random channel, some kid’s cartoon, and laid back down. It was easy to mindlessly lay there, eyes blurring in and out of focus as the colorful characters danced and sang through their problems. 

Peter knew that Tony had technically been negligent towards him, but strangely enough he was still always where he said he’d be. Peter always knew where to find him, even if their interactions were shaky at best, they’d also taken a turn for the better. 

That also plagued Peter’s thoughts. What had changed? Tony had been downright cold towards him, treating Peter like some kid he had to make sure didn’t end up dead, but then there was a shift. The past few days Tony seemed like he was making an effort, like he _wanted_ to try. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome on Peter’s part, but a deep pain ached in his chest at the idea of Tony simply pawning him off to someone else. After Tony had so carefully bandaged Peter up after his accident, after he’d seemingly started seeing Peter as just a _kid_. 

There wasn’t a real answer Peter could find, but it didn’t change that despite their rough start Peter had inexplicably become attached. 

A bitter smile twisted on his lips, his hands clenched into fists. He honestly should have seen it coming. Peter was always the one holding on the tightest, who took the tinies scrap of kindness and latched onto it. It was one of the reasons why he’d been so brutally bullied as a kid, because he didn’t understand the difference between genuine kindness and false words to gain his trust. Kids could do whatever they wanted to him as long as they still hung around him and gave him a smile every once in a while, because then Peter would continue to think they were friends.

Maybe Peter still didn’t know the difference and he was making the same mistake all over again. 

His mind ran in circles, weighing different options and pretending to deliberate when Peter was just fooling himself into believing he hadn’t already made his decision. These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. Peter sat up, hopping onto his feet to find where he’d left it in his room. 

By the time he dug it out from under his covers, it had stopped ringing. Opening it up, Peter frowned at the unknown number flashing _missed call_. He was about to toss his phone back when it pinged with a new message. Fingers swiped across the screen to open it up, the number being the same from the call he’d just missed. The text was just a simple photo.

Aunt May, bound in a chair, staring pleadingly up at the camera.

Peter dropped his phone, stumbling backwards until his back hit the wall. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, the image of her face burning in front of his eyes. Blood had been dripping down from a wound on her temple, eyes wide and mouth gagged. 

Curling into the corner, Peter tried desperately to count his breaths in and out, but it didn’t help. He delved completely into a spiral of unbearable panic. 

Air burst from his lungs rapidly until there was none left and Peter was left gasping for more, head swimming with the memory of May's eyes. His chest burned, heat radiating from his previous injury. 

It might have been only a minute that he sat there, but it felt like days he was trapped there in that unending loop of fear and pain and _oh god, Aunt May._ But his door swung up, pushing Peter further into the corner of his room, and his vision was obscured. 

“Peter?” 

It was Tony. 

“Kid, you better be playing a really poorly thought out prank.” Peter wished he was, then he wouldn’t be dying. That’s what it felt like, at least. He was unable to get out a single word, instead praying that Tony would realize he was crouched in the corner behind the door without any oxygen. 

Thankfully, one of Peter’s desperate pants for any air was loud enough for Tony to quickly throw the door closed to reveal Peter’s pathetic form crumpled there.

The next few seconds were a blur of hands on him and Tony repeating something to him a couple times, until it all came to a screeching halt when Tony wrapped Peter in his arms and brought him close.

Shuddering and hiccuping, Peter stared with wide eyes into the fabric of Tony’s shirt. He was being cradled like a babe, hands trapped against his chest and head against Tony’s shoulder. It was so surprising it snapped Peter out of it for a second, snot and tears still staining his face. 

Peter’s ear was right above his heart, which was beating rapidly despite the long and calm breaths Tony was pulling in. 

His breathing hitched a few times, but the warm hold and soft words whispered into his hair quickly calmed the panic that’d seemed all encompassing. 

Slowly, Peter reached up to clutch a handful of Tony’s shirt tightly as if it’d stop him from going anywhere.

“Kid,” Tony murmured, his own heart rate slowly lowering. “What happened?” Body trembling, Peter slowly unclenched his jaw to force out the word.

“...Phone.” 

Tony turned his head around to see Peter’s dropped phone lying face down on the carpet. Tony slowly shifted them around, a low groan leaving him as he carefully lifted Peter, until Tony was leaning against the wall and facing the rest of the room. 

“We’ll take a look at that later.” Tony said, shuffling into a better position. “Let’s just focus on breathing for now, yeah?” 

It wasn’t perfect, Tony’s hold on him was kinda stiff and they had to shuffle a little when Peter’s legs fell asleep or Tony’s arms grew tired. 

Yet, Peter felt himself relax enough to start drifting off. Tony seemed to notice because they were suddenly moving and Peter was slowly pulled to his feet. Nausea pooled in his gut as Tony led them over to his phone, nearly digging his heels in to stay away. 

Peter watched Tony bend to pick up the fallen device before sitting on his bed heavily. He didn’t think he could handle looking at it again. 

It was quiet for a long moment as Tony silently scanned what was there. Peter stared down at his feet, feeling more and more like he’d be sick. 

Tony turned and strode out of the room, Peter’s phone clutched in his hand. For a moment, Peter stared at the empty doorway with a blank expression, then laid himself down on the bed and closed his eyes. Peter trusted Tony, even if it was slightly misplaced. It made his throat squeeze shut until it was hard to swallow.

It didn’t seem like anytime had passed when suddenly there was a knock on his door and he sat back up, a small twinge in his neck as he straightened. Shuffling over, he slowly pulled on the door handle to reveal none other than Head Detective Fury. 

“Detective?” Peter asked, glancing over his shoulder to see if he could spot Tony in the other room. Instead he saw more people milling about the living room. Many Peter didn’t recognize, but they were obviously with the NYPD. 

“Stark called us about the message. We’ve connected your number to one of our devices to monitor for any more. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem like we can trace the number back to its source. This is good though, they’re using her so they shouldn’t hurt her.”

“You’re shit at reassurances.” Tony suddenly appeared behind Fury, brow drawn over his eyes. The Head Detective glared at Tony, sighing as he strode away. Tony rubbed at his face with one hand, Peter glanced up and saw the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He felt guilty suddenly, Tony had been working hard this whole time and Peter was mostly just trouble. The phone charger incident, the situation with Tyler, Peter dropping that pot…

Peter really was fucking this all up, wasn’t he? 

“You should come eat something, Fury’s got the police out. Try and relax, yeah?” He’s been trying so hard, Peter could see it. Once again it felt like his throat was closing in on itself. 

“Okay.” Peter said without meeting his gaze, guilt settling in his gut. 

As they sat down, Tony’s groceries sitting unpacked on the island, Peter suddenly wondered how he’d known Peter hadn’t bothered eating breakfast. 

To his surprise, Tony didn’t flick on the tv to fill the silence. Instead, he reached out and pulled Peter’s school laptop towards him. Peter watched quietly, bringing a spoonful of cereal up to his mouth. 

“How’s school going?” 

“Oh,” Peter blinked down at the food that was slowly growing soggy. “Fine I guess.” Tony nodded, eye flicking up towards him. 

“That kid back at school yet? Those one that punched you?” He asked.

“Tyler? No, he isn’t.” Tony refocused on what he was doing, leaving Peter to finish his meal.

As Peter stood to put away his dirty dishes, he suddenly recalled Ben wrapping an arm around his shoulders and asking him if any kids were giving him a hard time at school. Peter had a black eye and split lip, but hadn’t mentioned it to either of his guardians. At the gentle whisper, Peter had caved and said that some kid didn’t like him. He didn’t say who, but Ben had still complained to the school after Peter was tucked into bed. 

Peter was proud when his eyes remained dry, but it didn’t stop the throbbing in his head like the memory was rattling painfully in his skull. 

Tony closed the laptop with a soft _click_ , twisting in his seat towards Peter. 

“I emailed the school that you’re cold turned into the flu, so they’ll send your work for the week.” Peter nodded, both relieved and disquieted from the news. It felt like it’d take a Herculean effort to make it through a school day with the way he felt, but he also knew he’d spend his time off sitting in his room trying to keep his mind off the picture of his Aunt and desperately hoping to see her safe again. 

The rest of the day passed in a monotonous blur. The pair had settled down on the couch to watch a movie, but a phone call pulled Tony away for nearly a half hour. Peter was only paying half of his attention to the program, instead he found his eyes drifting to the wall just above the screen before focusing back and realizing he had no clue what was happening. When Tony returned, he had popped some popcorn but only was sitting for ten minutes before his phone rang again. A sound between annoyance and resignation left his mouth as he got to his feet and didn’t return. 

That night, Peter only pretended to try and sleep for an hour before he turned on his lamp and pulled some homework out from his backpack. It felt better to be productive, he decided, if he was going to be awake for hours. 

Sunlight kissed his closed curtains, dimly lighting his room, and he set the book he’d been trying to read down. Limbs heavy and warm from his covers, Peter stepped into the chillier morning air and went to the bathroom. 

The kid in the mirror was someone Peter couldn’t look in the eyes.

Tony was just leaving his room, work apron hanging off one arm, when Peter finished with his business. Tony gave a soft greeting and Peter returned it with a closed lip smile. 

Tony left for work, something Peter didn’t think he’d do with the new update with his aunt, but he guessed it was for the best. They had a cover, didn’t they?

So, Peter sat at the table and slowly typed in the password. Immediately, the last thing opened blinked onto the screen. It was Tony’s email. 

Peter went to close it and open his own email for his school work, but something caught his eye. 

The sender was just a long string of numbers and letters while the subject was a single word. 

_Anderson._

Biting his lower lip and glancing at the front door like Tony would burst into the room any minute, he slowly opened the email. It was semi short, but there were three files attached to the message. 

_Stark,_

_The situation has changed. Witsec has never had a single death, nor life threatening injury ever on record. Now, there’s a woman missing and the crime world is buzzing with the hit on one Peter Parker. Don’t leave him alone unless absolutely necessary and definitely don’t leave the apartment unless it’s vital. More details of what’s changed attached below._

_Rhodes._

Fingers trembling, Peter slowly opened the first of the files. It’s name was again just a string of seemingly random numbers and letters. 

It looked like a word document with long paragraphs and a few bullet lists that went on for a dozen or so pages. Peter couldn’t even get through the first few sentences, the words sounding like they had to with the law and police policies. 

Closing the window down, Peter moved onto the second one. This one was seemingly a schedule with a few names and numbers attached at the bottom. Skimming over it, Peter realized it was for delivering groceries and a few meals through the week to minimize their contact outside. Peter didn’t recognize any of the people listed. 

Peter nearly shut it all down and put it out of mind, he knew he shouldn’t be looking through Tony’s things. But, the third file was a different color than the rest and Peter’s curiosity got the better of him. 

Inside was another long, wordy paragraph, and Peter felt disappointment bubble in the back of his throat. Scrolling down slightly to see if there was _anything_ of interest there, Peter paused at a picture on the second page. On top, it was labeled ‘Current Lead’. 

It was a coordinate point, a red pin on top of what seemed to be on top an old factory that’d shut down a few years back. Peter recognized it and the surrounding streets because it had been all over the news that someone had died there due to unsafe working conditions.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock echoing through the apartment the same moment Peter realized in horror what exactly the marked point meant. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be real honest, i did not edit this chapter at all lol

With trembling hands, Peter quickly minimized the files and exited from Tony’s email. His school website was just finished booting up when the door opened and Tony was stepping into the apartment, key jingling from his grip. 

Turning around in his chair to watch Tony kick off his shoes, Peter casually wiped the sweat off his palms. 

“Hey kid, doing school work?” He asked, walking into the kitchen and pulling open the fridge. 

”Yeah,” Peter said, heart thumping in his throat. “I thought you left for work?” Tony grimaced, toeing the fridge closed, and set the container he’d grabbed onto the island. 

“Yeah I was,” He said, leaning his palms on the counter. “But I quit.” Peter blinked at him as he turned away, setting his leftovers into the microwave. The steady hum filled the silence and Peter shook himself briefly. 

“You quit? Why?” He asked, school work completely forgotten. Tony scratched at the back of his head, not facing Peter. 

“It’s...police business. I’m not supposed to talk about it.” He answered uneasily. Peter felt a twinge of annoyance but buried it down. 

“Oh.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tony didn’t look at him and Peter watched his back before slowly turning back to his laptop, the screen dark. There was a weird tightening in his chest that he ignored. 

Then, Tony was suddenly sitting at the table beside him with his steaming spaghetti and the heavy feeling that’d settled in his ribcage loosened slightly. 

Prickles of guilt ran up and down Peter’s arms and he nearly confessed to what he’d been doing before Tony had returned, but the image of the location and ‘Current Lead’ burned in his mind's eye. If they had a lead, that meant that Aunt May would be found soon and Peter would never have to think about the contents of those emails again. He’d wait patiently and quietly for the trial, he’d say everything the police wanted him to on the stands, and he’d be back home with his Aunt’s arms around him. 

A few casual words were passed between them as Peter went back to opening up his school work while Tony ate his meal. Keeping his breathing regulated and voice even, Peter pushed down the aching throb in his gut that flared up each time he thought of his Aunt. 

Except, a month passed without progress. The trail date got pushed back twice and Peter was certain it’d be rescheduled a third. 

He’d spent many nights lying awake for hours on end, staring unseeingly up at his ceiling. He’d often hear Tony talking nonstop on the phone with someone, arguing as quietly as he could to not wake Peter. But he was already awake and he could hear each muffled curse and the sounds of his feet pacing by his bed. He could never really piece together what they were actually discussing, the walls weren’t thin enough. 

He also noticed the bags getting dark and darker under Tony’s eyes as the days dragged on. 

Peter had gone back to school to try and keep up their cover, but Tony drove him to and from the building every day and Peter suspected he sat in the parents parking lot the whole time. 

Groceries arrived every week at the same time on the same day like clockwork. The man who delivered it was typically this huge, frowning man with dark hair and a permanent furrow between his brows that Tony called Happy. Peter didn’t think he looked very happy to be called that. Other times it was an officer Tony didn’t acknowledge by name and instead exchanged nods in the doorstep. 

If someone had asked Peter how he was doing during all of this, he would have given them a strained smile and a quick  _ fine _ . The truth was Peter didn’t know how to honestly answer that question. When he truly thought of his situation and how his world had crumbled under his feet, he felt sweaty and panicked so he didn’t think about it too much. He also felt a constant buzz beneath his skin that was a mix of anxiety and frustration. Then there was the godawful numbness that sat heavily on his shoulders and weighed like a ton of bricks. The kind of numb feeling saturating his bones made him want to do something stupid and reckless to feel something besides this neverending  _ nothing.  _ The panic usually set in around this time and Peter would be left gasping and shaking in the bathroom, thinking about how he didn’t know which feeling was worse. 

As the weeks passed by after Peter discovering those emails, the hope he’d felt shriveled and died. The police hadn’t found her. Peter didn’t know if she was dead or alive and no more unknown numbers sent horrific images to him. 

It was a Thursday afternoon and Peter was in Tony’s car, forehead leaning against the cool glass window. The rumbling of the engine coupled with the soft rock humming from the radio lulled Peter into a daze. Colors blurred past his eyes and he didn’t notice the glances Tony was throwing his way. 

“Hey, kid.” Tony’s voice cut through the quiet atmosphere. He raised his head, a slight crick in his neck from the awkward angle. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you but...another message was sent to your old number. The police intercepted it last night.” Peter frowned, they had changed his number? He did remember the police taking his phone for a while but he hadn’t thought much of it. “It was a message for you,” Tony swallowed. “From King Pin.” 

Heart rate slowly increased, Peter sat up fully. 

“What did it say?” His throat was suddenly dry. 

“It said, ‘Friday, 8 PM. Come alone’ with an address.” Tony’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “Of course you’re not getting anywhere near that place and we’re gonna swarm it before King Pin can even think about high tailing it out of there. I just thought…” He cleared his throat. “I just thought you deserved to know.” 

Peter had to unclenched his fingers slowly from the fabric of the seat, a cold sweat having broken out along his whole body. 

“Yeah,” He managed. “I...yes, sir.” Peter was too focused on hiding the sudden tears pooling in his eyes to notice the muscle jump in Tony’s jaw. 

Neither spoke for the rest of the ride. 

Peter didn’t even bother taking off his shoes, instead making a beeline for his room and locking the door behind him. 

He could hear the sound of Tony in their kitchen, but he focused more on calming down his racing heart. For a scary moment, his vision seemed to blur and swim like he was going to pass out. Luckily, he managed to make it to his bed and sat down heavily. 

Taking deep, calming breaths, Peter felt like he was getting himself under control when his phone vibrated in his pocket. His fingers fumbled over the device, the digits feeling heavy and clumsy as they unlocked the screen. 

A message blinked up at him and he stared down at the unfamiliar number. Before he could over think it too much, he swiped open the text. 

_ Tonight. Eight o’clock. Come alone.  _

Beneath that was a familiar looking address. 

Before he could register what he was doing, Peter was already pulling his laptop out of his bag and opening it up next to his phone lying face down on his covers. 

Sure enough, when he searched the address a familiar place popped up on the screen. It was the same place Peter remembered Tony’s email labeled as  _ Current Lead. _

Peter didn’t do anything except stare at the address for a few minutes, mentally reeling. He knew he was going, there was no question there. He  _ had _ to go, there was no way he couldn’t when his aunt’s life was on the line. The unsaid  _ or else _ hung in the air like a guillotine over Peter’s neck. If he didn’t go, his aunt would most likely die. 

Then there was Tony, who would never let Peter go. At least, not alone, something he was explicitly told not to do. Tony couldn’t know then, he would sneak out after Tony went to bed and walk into what would definitely end up with himself killed. He was King Pin’s loose thread that needed to be tied up. 

Decided, Peter put his laptop back and tossed his bag by his desk where he always left it. Then, he pulled a piece of paper from his draws alone with a pen and scribbled a short message there. 

_ Tony,  _

_ I’m sorry.  _

_ Peter.  _

Unable to think of anything else, Peter left it like that. What else could he say? They had only known each other for a few short weeks, most of which they barely spoke to each other. Now, Peter felt a lump form in his throat at the idea he’d never see Tony again and he found no words strong enough to convey what he felt besides a simple  _ I’m sorry.  _

Leaving the note there on the desktop, Peter paced a few times around his room. He had a few hours to kill before Tony would most likely invite him to dinner before sitting on the couch until he retired for the night. Peter wanted to stay in his room for the rest of the night, fearing once he saw Tony he’d lose his nerve to go. Refusing dinner would make the man suspicious though, and Peter couldn’t risk that. 

Feeling rather jittery and unsteady, Peter continued pacing until he tried cracking open some of his homework. That only aggravated him further as he struggled to focus long enough to read a question, giving up after ten minutes to continue wandering aimlessly through the small space. 

His thoughts were a snarl of confusing emotions and images of what was to come, unable to control the worst case scenario from flashing in his mind. His aunt dead, killed right before his eyes, being just as helpless as the night Ben died. 

When dinner did finally roll around, Peter had calmed himself down from several bouts of frightening panic. He knew Tony was eyeing him, but since he didn’t bring it up Peter wasn’t about to say anything either. 

Whatever he put into his mouth was tasteless and felt like mush, Peter was simply robotically bringing the utensil to his lips without any thought towards the action. All he could think about was how he was going to betray Tony’s trust and wind up dead. 

“Kid.” Peter nearly jumped, eyes snapping up to Tony’s face. His dark eyes were trained steadily on Peter’s face, a slight sweat gathering under his pits. For one gut wrenching moment, Peter thought Tony saw right through him and knew what he was planning to do. 

Silence stretched between them and Peter probably should verbally answer him, but he didn’t trust his voice to remain steady. Instead, he licked his lips and looked back down at his plate. 

“Kid, I know you must be torn up about this, hell I’m torn too, but you gotta know that we’re doing everything we can right now.  _ I’m _ doing everything I can right now.” Tony made a move like he was going to reach out towards Peter, but instead he simply fiddle with the fork resting besides his plate. “Tomorrow, we’re gonna get this son of a bitch. We’re gonna get your aunt back, too.” Peter nodded mutely, only able to glance up once to his guardian’s face. “If you...need to talk about anything, I want you to know you can.” 

Warmth bloomed in Peter’s chest and before he could try and stop it, tears began flooding his eyes. They were nothing alike, but Peter was viciously reminded of Ben. 

Hiccuping, Peter brought his trembling fists up to his eyes and dug the knuckles into the sockets. Unable to stop, Peter felt an embarrassed flush rise to his face as he hunched further into himself. 

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor and suddenly Peter felt warm hands on his wrists, gently pulling his hands from his face. He could feel the drying tears and smeared snot under his nose, but there was no judgement in Tony’s eyes. 

He looked like he was going to say something, but instead he simply tugged Peter to his feet and pulled him towards the living room. Depositing him onto the couch, Peter had stopped actively crying to watch Tony reach around the back of the couch and grab the blanket resting there. He drew it around Peter’s shoulders.

Without a word spoken, Tony flipped on the television to a quiet show and flicked the lights off. Settling down beside Peter, he put an arm around him and sat back against the cushions. Peter followed the embrace until they were reclined together, his head resting almost hesitantly into the crook of Tony’s neck. An odd mix of affection and guilt washed over him, nearly knocking the air out of his lungs. 

Sniffling, Peter pulled the blanket tighter around himself and leaned further into Tony’s touch, practically latching onto the man. Just for a short while, they’d lay there together and Peter would absorb the comfort like a sponge until he’d inevitably had to slip away. His heart stuttered in his chest as something painful started to throb behind his ribs, fresh tears filling his eyes. Muffling any noise and smearing the evidence against Tony’s shirt, it was easy to simply lay there in a position he connected to warm nights cuddled close to May and Ben while some cheesy romcom quietly chattered on their decade old tv. 

He ended up unintentionally dozing off shortly after. When he opened his eyes again, the room was washed with dim light from the television while the sky outside was inky black. Peter was sprawled on top of Tony's chest, the both of them still wrapped around each other, the man’s breathing slow and heavy with sleep against the top of his head. 

Carefully, Peter sat up and out of the warm cocoon of sleep and body heat. Eyes itchy from old tears and crusting nostrils were rather unpleasant, yet Peter felt a bittersweet mix of happiness and resignation. He spread the blanket across Tony’s sleeping form, silently walking to his bedroom.

Throwing on an old hoodie that belonged to Ben and locking his door behind him, Peter inched open the window beside his bed with as much haste as he could spare. Every creak or rustle had him freezing, ears straining for any indication Tony had woke. Finally, he managed to get it open enough for him to squeeze out onto the fire escape. Checking his watch, Peter decided he didn’t have time to wiggle it close again and instead crept down the old metal stairs. 

Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chilly air biting at any exposed skin, the strain of trying to make as little noise as possible while also being excruciatingly aware that every second ticking by was shorting the amount of time his Aunt had left.

Feet touching solid ground, Peter immediately took off into a run. Wind whipped through his hair and cold street lights lit his way through deserted streets. He wasted some time trying to find the correct street and doubling back a few times to make sure he was going the right way. 

It was five minutes to eight and Peter could feel something desperate and scared crawling up the back of his throat, but swallowed it down. The sound of his soles slapping against the concrete echoed down the long driveway leading to the abandoned factory. It stood tall and ominous, covered in shadows against the darker sky speckled with stars. The air he panted burned the whole way down his lungs and back out.

A metal fence stood between him and the large doors that undoubtedly had opened to let in delivery trucks, a smaller door for workers hanging slightly ajar beside it. 

Licking chapped lips and wiping his sweaty palms against his hoodie, Peter reached out to stick his fingers through the fence’s holes and hauled himself upwards. The metal clinking echoed slightly, causing Peter’s heart rate to skyrocket. By the time he was on the ground on the other side, he was sure they knew he was there.

His sweat was now uncomfortably cool against his flushed skin, causing a whole body shiver. He could feel the silence pressing in all around him and his whole body prickled with the sensation of being watched. Cautiously, Peter approached the door hanging open into the dark interior. 

There wasn’t a sole in sight, the pitch black room smelled of mildew and rain. Peter stepped further inside and listened for any footsteps or voices, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. 

“You made the right choice to come, kid.” A voice called from the shadows. Peter jumped harshly. He didn’t like the way they called him kid, completely unlike when Tony did it.

“Who are you?” Peter called back, proud when his voice didn’t waver. “Where’s my Aunt?” 

Suddenly, overhead lights snapped on and illuminated the garage they were in. Standing a couple yards ahead were two men, one of them almost comically large with a shiny bald head, and the other with cold eyes and a neatly trimmed beard.

“You look tired, Pete.” Kingpin said, a lazy drawl in his tone. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately? Something been troubling you, son?” He took a few steps forwards, the heels of his dress shoes gently clicking on the concrete floor. 

“Where’s Aunt May?” Peter asked again, eyes darting from Kingpin to his minion. He recognized him from the night Ben died, the man that’d held his Uncle on his knees while Wilson Fisk held a gun to his forehead. 

“Not interested in chitchat, I see. Shame, really, you seem like a good kid. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Before Peter could respond, Fisk snapped his fingers and Quinton Beck pulled a handgun from a holster on his hip. He set it in one of Kingpin’s massive hands and stepped back. 

Without another word, he aimed the gun and fired. The bullet pierced through Peter’s right knee, his whole body immediately collapsing on itself. A scream tore from his throat, fingers curling around the wound rapidly bleeding through his jeans. Curling on the ground, he blearily looked up through swimming eyes as the hulking black shape of Kingpin stood over him. 

“Kill me,” Peter rasped. “But please, let my aunt go.” Blinking through the pain, he watched a cruel smirk spread across Fisk’s lips.

“Your aunt’s dead, kid. Been dead for weeks. We didn’t need her alive to get you to cooperate.” Another snap and a door opened, the sound of footsteps and something heavy being dragged across the floor filled the air. Peter’s entire body had frozen at man’s words, not able to process what he’d heard. 

There was a thump as whatever had been dragged over was dropped beside Peter. It was a black body bag, clearly holding a person inside. Adrain Toomes, Peter thought was his name, leaned down and unzipped the bag and revealed Aunt May’s corpse. 

There was a ringing in Peter’s ears as he scrambled onto his one good knee, hands falling around her head as he stared down at her white face. May’s normally warm eyes were dull and staring up blanking towards the ceiling, dark hair tangled around her head and fragile looking neck. No healthy glow to her cheeks nor smile curling along her lips, just a body laying on the cold concrete.

Peter realized his mouth was open and he was screaming, a long broken call of her name. It didn’t matter since she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t drag her fingers through his hair with a loving touch, couldn’t hold him in her arms as they had a Star Wars movie marathon. 

He didn’t cry. After his shout, he fell silent and merely hovered over the women he loved like a mother. Peter felt like everything around him had crumbled into nothing, leaving him flailing and falling down father then he knew was possible. 

“She was a pretty lady. I almost felt bad to put a bullet in her chest, but there was no point keeping her around when we knew you’d come running here no matter what state she was in.” Peter felt like Kingpin was speaking a different language since he couldn’t understand anything he was saying, not when Aunt May was lying there dead beneath him. 

Looking up the barrel of the gun, Peter felt the first tear roll down the side of his face. Even if he wouldn‘t be there, Peter suddenly wished for there to be an afterlife where May and Ben would be together. 

Peter briefly considered uttering a prayer, but it didn‘t feel right. Not when his entire right leg was on fire and Aunt May wasn‘t smiling or laughing or singing like she always did. 

The sound of a gunshot startled him, thinking he‘d been shot again but there was no pain. Instead, Kingpin stumbled back with a yell as blood poured from his shoulder. Another shot rang through the building, but it missed and clanked loudly against the wall. 

Beck darted forwards to protect his boss and a bullet went right through his neck, sending him tumbling forwards. Peter had a moment to raise his hands above him before the man collapsed onto his kneeling form. The weight put unnecessary stress on his knee and he cried out in pain, crumbling beneath the man. Hot, sticky blood smeared across his palms and down his hoodie. 

Yelling and weapons firing filled the air as a dozen or so people swarmed the area, Peter too preoccupied rolling Beck off him. Gasping for air, Peter numbly wiped a hand onto his pants, but there was so much blood on him it hardly mattered. 

It didn‘t matter that there were men and women surrounding Fisk and Toomes, Peter focused on the man who‘d blood he was covered in. His eyes were vaguely glassy and the hole in his throat bubbled nasally. 

Reaching out, Peter placed both his hands over the wound and applied the most pressure he dared to. He had no clue if it helped in stopping the bleeding, but he didn‘t want the man to die right there in front of him. Maybe it was because he was a good person, or maybe he couldn‘t handle the idea of seeing a person die right in front of him. 

After a few seconds, Beck‘s gaze focused sharply onto Peter‘s face and with a gargled yell and lunged up towards him. Startled, he released the man‘s wound as Quinton Beck wrapped his hands around Peter‘s neck and squeezed. 

Choking and gasping, Peter‘s fingers slid against Beck‘s desperately. They were too slick to get a good grip, but the fire faded from Beck‘s eyes and he collapsed on top of Peter. He wasn‘t breathing.

Caught beneath the dead weight, Peter squirmed as more warmth trickled onto his face but he didn‘t budge. The yelling had calmed somewhat and Peter peered around Beck‘s shoulder to watch someone jog towards them with a black police vest on. They pushed Beck‘s body off him and Peter could see it was a policewoman with her red hair tied back into a frizzy ponytail. 

She reached out and gripped Peter‘s shoulders, her lips moving without him hearing any words. His head was swimming and he wondered if he was going into shock. 

As quickly as she‘d come, she was suddenly gone and instead a familiar face was crowding into his space. He was paler than Peter had ever seen, but Peter recognized Tony‘s rather frantic eyes boring into his own. 

“Kid! God, kid where are you hurt? Talk to me, kid. Peter!” Hands trembling, Peter reached up and gripped Tony’s biceps. He was also wearing a vest stamped with NYPD across the chest, seemingly thrown on over what he’d been wearing back at the apartment. 

He couldn’t drag any words out of his mouth, but he could cling to the man like he was dying. He kinda felt like he was.

“Kid, I gotta stop the bleeding. Y-you gotta tell me where you’re hurt.” There was a hoarseness to his voice Peter had never heard before. Tony’s hands roamed over Peter’s chest and down to his knee, the amount of blood making it hard to identify where he was actually wounded. 

“...knee.” He managed, air wheezing from his bruised trachea. Immediately, Tony focused his attention on his right knee and Peter’s vision whited-out when he started applying pressure. 

Blinking his eyes back open, Peter stared up at Tony’s face creased with concern. He’d never seen the expression on his face before, his eyes had this vulnerable glint in them that made Peter’s chest ache.

“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Tony said, a hint of what sounded like anger in his tone. Peter didn’t reply, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Someone approached Tony from behind, placing their hand on his shoulder. Peter’s eyes slid up his arm and gazed up at an unfamiliar face. He was tall, African American, and had warm brown eyes. 

Tony shook their hand off, not even turning to see who it was. Instead, he leaned forwards and scooped Peter up into his arms. It was obvious he was being as gentle as he could, but it still caused a whimper to burst from Peter’s lips. 

Tilting his head down onto Tony’s chest, Peter was overcome with the need to wrap his arms around his neck and hold him as close as possible. If he kept a hold on Tony, he wouldn’t lose him.. 

He was vaguely aware of the continued pressure around his knee, realizing Tony must have put some kind of makeshift bandage to stop any further blood loss. His spinning head had him thinking he’d probably lost too much blood in the past hour. 

They were getting into a car, Tony struggling momentarily with the door before they were sitting in the back seat with Peter still wrapped around the man. The interior light stabbed at his eyes and a forming headache caused him to press his face into Tony’s neck, not resurfacing until the car rumbled to life.

It didn’t matter where they were going, as long as Tony was there. 

Covered in gore, both his own and someone else’s, and feeling like he left half his organs back with May’s body, Peter did his best to focus on the sound of Tony’s rapid heartbeat over the noises of the car. It was beating unhealthily fast but Peter found an odd comfort in it as his eyes slid closed.

“Hang on kid.” Tony murmured, lips brushing the top of his head. “Just hang on for a little longer.” Peter nodded, he didn’t want to sleep yet in case he woke without the other, but he didn’t open his eyes again. His voice dipped into a whisper. “I promise, I’ll be here. I’ll stay with you, whether that’s here in New Jersey or back in Queens, it doesn’t matter. I’m here kid.” 

A long, ragged sigh escaped him and he relaxed without meaning too. The promise to stay by his side settled something inside Peter he couldn’t name, but he wouldn’t think about it too much. Instead, he did his best to put any images of his late Aunt and Uncle from his mind and instead focused on the feeling of Tony holding him tightly like he’d never let go. 

Nothing would ever be the same, not after what Peter had lost. Yet, it was easy to pretend it could be with Tony whispering into his ear. 

“I’m here, kid.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I love y'all honestly, this series is just for fun but all the support I get makes it so much more fulfilling than I thought it would be


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